


Reconcile

by GalahadWilder



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Entrapdak, F/F, Glimbow, Post Finale, Post Heart, catradora
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:35:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28024083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalahadWilder/pseuds/GalahadWilder
Summary: Catra and Adora have lived their entire lives at war—first with the Horde, then against each other, then to save the universe. Niether one of them has ever known anything outside it, and for that matter, neither has any of their friends.The war is over now. Where do they go from here?
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 53





	Reconcile

**Author's Note:**

> I finally finished She-Ra last week and I have FEELINGS, you guys.

Over the three years since she left the Horde, Adora has gotten used to the feeling of waking up to an empty bed. Missing Catra is like a phantom limb, like there’s something that should _be there_ right by her feet, and sometimes she wakes up imagining that her best friend is still there—but it never lasts more than a few seconds, at most. Catra’s gone, betrayed her, and she’s never coming back.

So when Adora wakes up in the morning and the old blanket pressure is there at her feet, for a moment, she imagines it’s real.

But it doesn’t go away. There is someone sleeping on the foot of her bed. Something is terribly wrong.

She jerks upright, reaching for her sword, only barely remembering that a) she broke it months ago and b) the war is over, it ended yesterday, before Catra blearily lifts her head from her curled-up position and blinks sleepily and crookedly at Adora, her eyes still half-closed.

“Hey, Adora,” she mumbles. Then her eyes fly open, her pupils contracting. “... _Adora?_ ”

For a moment, all Adora can do is stare, her eyes locked on Catra’s off-color pupils, eyes she’s barely dared to dream about seeing again filled with anything but anger or pain, and she feels an unbearable lightness, a looseness, and uncomfortable sense of _rightness_ fill her chest. This—this is the way things are _supposed_ to be, and it’s _wrong_ , she—she was never meant to survive, she was never meant to _exist_ outside of the war, she’s not _allowed_ to have this, and the sense of rightness is gnawing uncomfortably at her lungs until suddenly all she can do is throw herself forward, hug her knees, and heave gasping sobs into her blankets.

“Adora?” Catra says, hurriedly stretching herself so their faces are nearly touching. “What’s—are you—“

“ _I love you,_ Catra,” Adora gasps. She—she can say that now, she doesn’t have to keep it buried, doesn’t have to pretend it’s not there or deny it. “I love you.” And oh, First Ones, it _hurts_ , it hurts to say it, hurts to rip that bandage from the bloody wound she’s nursed for three years, but it is _worth it_.

Catra’s mouth falls open in stunned silence, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. She falls backwards into a crouch, hyperventilating. “I—you—you said it,” Catra says. “You really...”

“I said it yesterday,” Adora says, still shaking.

“You were dying,” Catra says, rocking on her heels. “I—I didn’t think—“

“You didn’t think I meant it,” Adora says.

Catra squeezes her eyes closed and shakes her head. “I—I knew you meant it,” she says. “But I... it’s... I can’t _believe_.”

Adora reaches up to brush Catra’s hair away from her face, only stopping when Catra flinches about an inch before contact. “I’ll... just have to convince you,” she says, a mischievous smile forcing itself painfully through her tears. Then her heart seizes, and she swallows. “Did... did _you_ mean it?”

Catra opens her eyes, raises her head, and mews slightly. “Yes,” she breathes. “Oh, First Ones, _yes_.”

*

Brightmoon water may not be the scalding temperature she always preferred for showers in the Fright Zone, but it’s still warm and clean (and lavender-scented!) which is better than she could say for Darla. Or the Rebellion camp before that. Honestly she’s been missing a proper wash for so long, she feels like she’s washed four whole months away as the dirt and grime of the war sloughs off her skin and into the drain. Muscles she didn’t even know were tight loosen under the steam, and an involuntary sigh escapes her lips as the tension is drummed away by the falling water.

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Catra snarls from the stool in the corner of the washroom, frantically squeezing condensation out of her fur. “It’s so hot in here, how do you stand it?”

Adora grins. “I can’t lick myself clean,” she says. She doesn’t say the obvious—Catra doesn’t even need to be in here, especially with how uncomfortable the steam ("water in the _air,_ Adora!") is making her. But, in a way, she does. Catra needs to be here, and she needs Catra here.

(Adora had only been alone in the washroom for a few seconds, and the absence of her girlfriend had felt like her chest had been ripped open and emptied out. She was grateful when Catra had poked her head in, clear distress on her face, and quietly climbed into the stool without a single word of explanation.)

“I’ll try to be quick,” Adora says, squeezing shampoo into her tresses and gently scrubbing it away with her fingertips. Ahh, that feels _good_.

The door to the washroom creaks open, and Adora’s heart jumps, but then Melog’s head pokes around the frame and she calms. The phantom-cat-thing has long since stopped being unsettling, and she’s grateful for the way they curl around Catra’s legs, purring.

“Good morning, Melog,” Catra says, her voice soft as she rubs her palm against their forehead.

Melog rumbles something in reply.

“I—I don’t know,” Catra says, glancing at Adora. “It’s not like I’ve—!” She closes her eyes and breathes in. “We haven’t done this before.”

Adora raises an eyebrow.

Melog mrowls, butting his head against Catra’s knee.

“I don’t know if she’ll even want to!” Catra says.

Adora snorts, tossing dripping hair over her shoulder. “You could just _ask_ me,” she drawls.

Catra looks at her, horror dawning in her eyes as she seems to remember that, while Adora can’t understand _Melog,_ she can sure as heck understand _Catra_. “Adora!” she yelps. “I. Um.” She glances down at the floor and grips her elbow. “I, it’s just...” She sighs. “You haven’t kissed me. Since. Um.”

“Since I nearly died,” Adora finishes. Whoops. She’d been so busy fighting Horde Prime and then cleaning up in the aftermath, and then she’d just been so exhausted, she’d barely dragged herself back to her bed in Brightmoon and then just... collapsed. She steps out of the tub, squeezing and twisting her hair to drip onto the towel on the floor. “I’ll do it right now if you don’t mind getting a little wet.”

The sparkle lights back up in Catra’s eyes, and she sticks her tongue out. “I think that counts as torture,” she rasps with a mischievous smile. “I can wait.”

*

Kissing Catra feels... well, it feels a lot like transforming into She-Ra. Like she’s filling up with something, something indescribable, like light has exploded in her chest the moments their lips touch, and suddenly it’s all she can do to dive in, full of hunger, full of _need._ She devours Catra’s breath like a feast after famine, her hands scrabbling for purchase on Catra’s back like she’ll fall away at any moment. Everything she can ever remember has been self-denial, and in this moment—this one moment of indulgence—she feels that wall inside her crumbling, and she wants _more._

She burns, every muscle in her body alight with cosmic fire, every brush of Catra’s fingers trailing flames down her skin. Her own fingers tangle in Catra’s hair—disappointingly, not the way she’s imagined for years, thanks to Prime’s crop the hair isn’t long enough for a proper tangle—but it’s still enough to make her heart leap.

She breaks away with a gasp. “I love you,” she says.

Catra meets her eyes with a crooked, broken smile and a sob. “You’re such an idiot,” she whispers.

The door slides open, and Adora’s heart immediately leaps as a hulking red form shoulders its way into the room. She jumps back from Catra, ready to fight—

Only to see Scorpia’s—rather embarassed—face. “Oh, hey guys!” she says. “Um, Catra, Queen Glimmer wanted to speak to you?” She nervously clacks the tips of her opposite pincers together. “Was I… interrupting something?”

Adora and Catra glance at each other, faces at entirely different shades of red.

Scorpia raises an eyebrow. “I’m missing something here. What am I missing?”


End file.
